


longing for your avenues

by vokdas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Quidditch, Durmstrang Student Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, WAIT IM DUMB it’s 2004-06 SORRY, harry plays for England and Draco plays for Bulgaria!, side note idk much about quidditch, spoiler... I also dont know much about hockey, this is heavily based on hockey, this takes place in 2002-2004 so they're like. 25 ish, which is so OLD literally please just ignore everything I say about the timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29442063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vokdas/pseuds/vokdas
Summary: Potter smiles at him, painfully bright in a way that Draco just knows is fake.  He sticks out his right hand.  “It’s nice to meet you, Draco.”Draco stares at him for a minute, trying to read him and failing miserably.  Unsatisfied, he offers his left hand and watches with sadistic pleasure as Potter fumbles to move the Snitch and his broom to his other hand.Looking back later, it won’t be clear why this moment is so significant, but Potter has always been able to get Draco to react in ways no one else can.(Or: the Pro Quidditch AU.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Valentine's day 2021





	longing for your avenues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glimmer89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmer89/gifts).



> helloooo! i know i said i'd write the rest of my MDZS modern AU but.... college is kicking my little booty so take this little drarry piece which i will probably also update irregularly <3 side note - this is for the TMOE discord server's v-day gift exchange!
> 
> prompt:  
> AU Draco never went to Hogwarts but him and Harry both play pro quidditch and Draco thinks they are super rivals but Harry is mushy
> 
> title from "Tokyo Dreaming" by Particle House

There are three moments Draco will never forget.

The first is from the day he got his first broom. His parents hadn’t wanted to let him start flying so young, but Draco had cried and begged for the entire week leading up to his fourth birthday, and eventually it had gotten so annoying that Lucius gave in. And despite his initial hesitance, Lucius was ecstatic about how quickly Draco took to flying. He even hired Madam Hooch as a private coach for that summer, and by the time she went back to Hogwarts in the fall, Draco was flying high enough to have his mother chasing after him, screaming for fear that he would go headfirst into the roof.

Anyway, what he still remembers is the look on Lucius’s face when Draco tore the broom out of the packaging, swung one leg over it, and flew right off. Lucius had never looked so proud of him before, and he hasn’t looked so proud of him since then.

The second unforgettable memory is the day Draco set foot into Durmstrang from the first time. The castle is quieter and grander than Hogwarts, with a much more practical design—and stairs that lie still, for one—and darker decorations. It didn’t take long at all for Durmstrang to completely win Draco over thanks to the castle itself, even if Igor Karkaroff was shifty and Uncle Severus was far away.

Narcissa had been somewhat hesitant about sending him to Durmstrang, for two reasons: that it was so far from home, and that she didn’t particularly want him learning dark magic. But Lucius was decidedly not a fan of Dumbledore and had no qualms about setting Draco up for a formal education in subjects from which Hogwarts would rather run. Truthfully, Draco thought blood magic and dueling sounded rather interesting, much to his mother’s chagrin.

The third and most vivid moment is rather ordinary.

Draco is at the London Quidditch pitch—the main one, where he’ll be playing Qualifiers against the English National team in a few months—speaking to his old friend Madam Hooch while an intense rec game takes place overhead. He’s only just been accepted by the Bulgarian National team and came home to break the news to Hooch himself. After a short congratulations, Hooch is berating him about his apparently inadequate maintenance of his broom when there’s a cheer from above and the game stops. The player with his arm extended, clearly holding the Snitch for the players to see, swoops down toward Draco and Hooch, and the moment he comes into view Draco feels a sudden burning hate rush through his body.

He knows this player—he’s seen his face on countless editions of _Witch Weekly Bulgaria_ , watched a fair few of his games, and even listened to his best friend Dobri agonize over his rippling muscles. Lucius has even talked at length about this player, albeit mostly about the benefits of having him as a friend. In short, Draco would have to live under a rock not to know Harry Potter, with whom the entirety of the Wizarding World is thoroughly enamored.

That is, the entirety of the Wizarding World with the exception of Draco himself.

Potter is arrogant and reckless, clearly having grown overly used to winning and seeing adoring fans clamor for his attention. He seems to speak without thinking for a moment about the consequences of his words despite being firmly in the public eye. Draco can’t believe so many people have been charmed by such a bumbling idiot with no courtesy or manners whatsoever.

Even now, Potter barely looks at Draco as he lands gracefully near him and Madam Hooch. He grins widely and holds the Snitch high for them to see.

“Cedric nearly beat me to it that time,” he says casually. “I reckon it was our brooms that edged us out…”

“I would be inclined to agree with you, Mr. Potter, if I were not personally privy to the terrible maintenance of your broom,” Madam Hooch says. She smiles at him despite her scolding. “Your victory has nothing to do with your broom. I must advise you to be more careful with your equipment…”

But Potter seems to have lost all interest in the conversation, because he’s finally looked over at Draco and is now staring openly at him with an unreadable expression. Draco raises his eyebrows, daring him to speak. The rest of the Quidditch players are making their way past them to the locker room now, and Draco catches a glimpse of the aforementioned Cedric Diggory, the winner of the last Triwizard Tournament, who Potter had beaten to the Snitch in all their games at Hogwarts. Sports papers and fashion magazines alike had praised Potter thoroughly in the months after Diggory’s victory, which no doubt gave a boost to his already overinflated ego.

The thought of this must put a sour expression on Draco’s face, because Potter flushes.

“Hello,” he says awkwardly. “I’m Harry Potter. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“You haven’t,” Draco says.

Madam Hooch looks between the two of them, two of her best students, and sighs before walking off without a word. She knows how Draco feels about Harry Potter. Draco wonders if Potter has said anything to her about him.

“So,” Potter says, very awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco says.

Potter smiles at him, painfully bright in a way that Draco just _knows_ is fake. He sticks out his right hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Draco.”

Draco stares at him for a minute, trying to read him and failing miserably. Unsatisfied, he offers his left hand and watches with sadistic pleasure as Potter fumbles to move the Snitch and his broom to his other hand.

Looking back later, it won’t be clear why this moment is so significant, but Potter has always been able to get Draco to react in ways no one else can.

—

Bulgaria is not fond of Draco. Well, the city of Vratsa is, because he Captained the Vratsa Vultures to win the European Cup in his last year in regionals, but things changed once he made it onto the Bulgarian National team. Despite his killer performance in regionals, he doesn’t hold a candle to Viktor Krum, and Bulgaria had loved Krum more than anything. Even after Krum’s objectively lackluster performance in his last game—losing the Snitch to the speedy new Egyptian Seeker—Draco seemed to be held to a standard of perfection, or close to it. Of course, Draco has never even come close.

All the same, Krum hadn’t been the only one to retire after Bulgaria’s devastating loss in the 2002 Cup finals. While most of the new players haven’t been met with half as much criticism as Draco has, there’s still a tremendous pressure on the team as a whole to outperform the last team. It certainly doesn’t help that a significant portion of the team, including Draco, was freshly and hastily signed right after the Cup. The vets are all kind and helpful, but the fans are skeptical and will probably keep writing their suspicious articles until the rookies prove themselves.

Of course, Harry Potter had skipped everything—he’d never played in regionals and he never had to try out for a team. He had famously been recruited right out of Hogwarts to start playing on the English National team with no experience outside of Hogwarts, and of course he’s been nearly as good as Krum ever since. But even before his skills came to light, he had been welcomed with such open arms that Draco thought he could see some English shoulders pop out of place. Even Krum had encountered some difficulty when he was recruited during his sixth year at Durmstrang.

So Draco had had four years in regionals and a fucking European Cup to his name by the time he made it onto the Bulgarian National team, and even then he was nowhere near as well-received as Harry Potter was by their respective countries. It’s far from fair, and Draco will probably resent it until the day he dies.

—

It had once been Draco’s dream to play Quidditch professionally with his best friend, Dobroslav Paisi. Dobri was born and raised in Bulgaria, and the youngest of four brothers who had all attended Durmstrang. Draco and Dobri had played Quidditch recreationally at Durmstrang, and in their younger years, they’d even gotten to play with Krum on occasion.

If it weren’t for Dobri, Draco probably would have ended up playing for England or doing something else entirely. It’s a lucky thing—with Harry Potter as England’s Seeker, Draco never would have made it onto the national team. He would have been stuck playing in the minor leagues forever.

Anyway, Draco’s childhood dream has been more or less fulfilled: Dobri also plays on the Bulgarian National team, as a Chaser, which means they spend almost every waking moment together. At first glance, this is a good thing. Dobri is a skilled duelist, and a passable potioneer, and a three-time pick for _Witch Weekly Bulgaria_ ’s Dreamy Durmie. He picks up men and women alike every time the team goes out for drinks, and although he can sweet-talk his way out of any situation, he always keeps his promises. Put together, he’s not a bad approximation of what a perfect person would be—charming, funny, and much smarter than he looks.

But there is, of course, a catch: he knows exactly how to push Draco’s buttons and has no qualms about doing so.

“Have you seen the _Witch Weekly_ article?” is how he greets Draco as they walk out to the Pitch for practice. He doesn’t wait for Draco to answer, because they both know Draco doesn’t read _Witch Weekly_. “England beat Wales 150-nil this past weekend. Potter caught the Snitch before the first play was even made.”

“Wales will be angry on Sunday then,” Draco says.

“Well, the Welch Beaters haven’t exactly been gentle,” Dobri says drily. “But it’s more pressure on the Seekers now, isn’t it? Obviously it’s always been, but Potter’s put England in a great spot.”

“Yeah,” Draco says. “The team’s got to step up, though. Even with Potter, England’s in fourth.”

Dobri makes a face. “Don’t use that tone to say ‘fourth’—we _wish_ we were in fourth. It’s not exactly reassuring to be in ninth, is it?”

“Well, Potter is faster than Egypt and Senegal combined, so it’s his team’s fault they’re not placed higher,” Draco says, completely ignoring the latter half of Dobri’s point. Bulgaria’s current standing is worrisome at best—the top sixteen teams in each division advance to the actual Cup, so being ninth is certainly not doing wonders for their confidence. Draco tried not to think about how, with Krum as Seeker, Bulgaria had been within the top three in their division for the past three Cups.

“That’s fair enough,” Dobri says. “I’m still rather surprised Potter wasn’t made Captain over Wood.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Are you? Wood’s a good Keeper and he’s been playing longer. His save percentage is—well, it’s something.”

“It’s not thanks to _him_ that England is in third,” Dobri says, which is true. Still, Draco would rather die than agree to praise Potter. “It’s not like the game’s long enough for him to make that many saves, anyway, with how quick Potter catches the Snitch. Wood played in ‘98 too and England didn’t do nearly as well, because Blythe Parkin sucked.”

“At least Parkin was sexy,” Draco says, mostly just to have something to say.

Dobri gives him a pointed look. “He’s _old_. Potter’s sexy. The entire Wizarding World thinks that, Draco, including you. I know you’ve had your eye on him since his match against the—the Slippyclaws or whatever, fifth year.”

Draco had in fact watched that Hogwarts match, in which Gryffindor had only beaten Slytherin by twenty points even having caught the Snitch. _Witch Weekly Bulgaria_ had published a lengthy article the next day gushing over the newly muscled build of the Gryffindor Seeker, then-fifth-year Potter who had been discussed sparingly in previous years for his speed, but had suddenly skyrocketed to fame over the summer after becoming obnoxiously fit. To make matters worse, he’s only gotten more fit since then, and there’s no real way for Draco to say he somehow still doesn’t think Harry Potter is super hot without sounding either crazy or blind. He goes with, “His hair looks like a dumpster fire.”

“A sexy dumpster fire,” Dobri sighs. Then, at Draco’s disgusted look, he adds, “What? Did you read this morning’s article? They said his hair looks like sex itself.”

“ _My_ hair looks like sex. If you wanted to fawn over someone, you’ve been overlooking the most suitable candidate for years now.” Draco waggles his eyebrows. “Unless, of course, you’ve been too busy ogling our darling Bogo—”

“Keep your voice down,” Dobri hisses, elbowing him hard in the side. This is totally uncalled for, in Draco’s opinion, because the subject of their conversation is in the middle of the Pitch, talking with Coach Becker and probably not paying any attention to Draco and Dobri whatsoever.

They’re speaking, of course, about the team’s star Chaser—the devastatingly handsome Bogomil Levski, with dark hair that literally shines in the sunlight and a waist about as thick as Dobri’s thigh. He would likely have just as many admirers as Dobri if he weren’t the quietest person Draco has ever met, and while Dobri himself has loads of people falling at his feet, he’s only had eyes for Bogomil since the first game they played against him in regionals. And having Bogomil around all the time, all shy smiles and solid strength, must be an exquisite brand of torture designed specifically for Dobri. 

“Anyway, you didn’t get hot until fifth year,” Dobri says. “You looked like a toothpick with onion hair until you hit puberty. And you were too pasty.”

Draco refuses to acknowledge the jab at how he used to gel his hair back until it was plastered to his scalp in an admittedly uncanny impression of the layers of an onion. “I was not _pasty_ ,” he says delicately. “I have an alabaster skin tone.”

“You didn’t exactly have a glowing complexion,” Dobri says with faux sympathy. “Even before puberty Harry Potter didn’t look like he would burn from sitting at the window too long.”

“I did _not_ —” He stops himself, because that had actually happened one time, and he’s been careful to liberally apply skin protection charms since then. “Why are we talking about Potter again?”

“He’s a gorgeous man,” Dobri says very seriously.

Draco makes a face at him. “I would rather suck Bogomil’s dick than call Potter attractive.”

Coach Becker and Bogomil’s conversation abruptly cuts off. Draco hadn’t meant to be speak loudly enough for them to hear him, but Dobri’s completely mortified expression makes him unable to feel bad about it at all, and Bogomil’s entire face is bright red.

“Morning,” Draco says cheerfully.

“Hey Coach,” Dobri says in a strangled voice. “Hi Bogomil.”

“Hey, Dobri,” Bogomil mutters, looking away, equally flustered. “Did you, um. How was your morning?”

Draco immediately thinks of the _Witch Weekly_ article about Potter, and he can tell Dobri is thinking the same thing, because he immediately flushes just as brightly as Bogomil. “Good,” he says weakly. “How was yours?”

“Good,” Bogomil says.

Neither of them seem to have anything to say after that. Draco would be content to stand and stew in the awkward tension forever, but the other players arrive shortly afterward and Coach Becker announces the start of practice. Dobri spends the entirety of practice glaring at Draco and avoiding Bogomil as much as possible.

—

To no one’s surprise, England beats Wales in the rematch. They continue to perform well while Draco continues to perform passably. Potter catches eight of his next ten Snitches but wins six games while Draco catches five for five wins, which speaks to the differences between their teams. But with the pressure from the fans and the predictions of even relatively unbiased sports networks, it’s no surprise that the Bulgarian team is pushing harder for a better performance.

Luckily, the press eventually starts to ease off of Krum, who has apparently settled down somewhere in Norway doing who knows what. That kind of anonymity sounds like a dream some days, with journalists scrutinizing every play and Lucius pushing harder than ever for Draco to befriend Potter. Draco doesn’t _want_ to befriend Potter, just as he hadn’t befriended England’s beloved Cedric Diggory during his stellar first season with the Chudley Cannons. That had turned out to be a good decision when Diggory’s sophomore slump hit hard and he only caught ten Snitches throughout the entire season. Draco still remembers Lucius’s embarrassment at the news, after having encouraged Draco to befriend Diggory.

His third season started off significantly better, but was cut short by a career-ending injury that damaged his knee beyond repair. For the remainder of the season, the Cannons were forced to play their backup Seeker, who was so anxious after having witnessed Diggory’s accident that he refused to go anywhere near the goalposts or make any risky plays, and ultimately only caught one Snitch. Then Harry Potter graduated from Hogwarts the next year and the Cannons tried to recruit him, but he went to the National team instead, and so they never quite recovered from the loss of Diggory.

And Diggory never got back into professional Quidditch or even coaching. There are rumors that Diggory is working for the Ministry of Magic these days, but Lucius had stopped talking about him once his Quidditch career came to a close, so Draco doesn’t hear about him often.

Sometimes, though, Draco still thinks about his accident, about which he’d read in the many articles that had come out in the immediate aftermath. Diggory wasn’t quite as good as Potter, but aside from his sophomore season, he was still highly praised and had been expected to do well in his career. To have it all come to a sudden stop must have been the worst feeling in the world.

—

Draco goes home for the holidays, as he always does, and as always he stops by Spinner’s End to make a visit for Severus’s birthday. Although Severus complains that they’re both far too busy to waste time on something as childish as birthdays, he never actually turns Draco away, so it’s become a tradition of sorts. Similarly, Severus never comes to visit for Draco’s birthday, but he always sends him surprisingly useful potions, so Draco knows he never forgets.

“Here again,” Severus drawls at the sight of Draco at his doorstep. “I suppose hoping for mercy this year would have been too optimistic.”

“I’m afraid so,” Draco says. He holds up his perfectly wrapped package, offering a teasing smile. “I brought you a gift.”

“Of course you did,” Severus sighs, with a honestly unwarranted eye-roll, but he steps aside to let Draco in. His home is as dreary and dark as it has always been, with only a black-and-white painting hung crookedly in the middle of the living room for decoration. He had never refurnished after his parents moved out, and it is evident in the deteriorated, graying state of the old couch and armchair. But despite Draco’s own obnoxiously lavish tastes, the place is familiar and homely, if only because he comes here every year. It feels like Severus.

“I was terribly undecided about what to get you this year,” Draco says conversationally as he plops down on the couch without invitation. Severus eyes him warily and sits at the opposite end. “After the watch last year, I didn’t know what better I could find for you…”

“You mean ‘impractical’,” Severus says. “I assure you I am quite proficient at the _Tempus_ charm.” Despite his words, the white gold watch sits perfectly on his wrist, emeralds shiny and polished as they had been the day Draco gave it to him. Draco resists the urge to smile.

“Yes, I have taken that into account,” Draco says, “so this year I thought to give you something of no use whatsoever, so there’s on way to replicate it with a spell.”

Severus gives him such an unimpressed look that Draco almost bursts out laughing. He takes the gift. “Your solution was to give me something completely useless?”

“Just open it,” Draco says, grinning, and watches as Severus unwraps the package with a wave of his wand. He rolls his eyes at the fancy black box under the wrapping paper.

“Really, child, is all this necessary…” He trails off when he opens the box. Draco watches him very carefully, trying to read his expression, but it remains blank. Severus doesn’t seem to know how to react. “What is this?”

“Just a piece of home decor,” Draco says lightly, which earns him a glare. “Fine, fine, it’s the first Snitch I caught, alright? Well, not the _first_ , but the first in a real game—you were there, Severus, although I don’t know if you remember…”

“I remember,” Severus says very tightly.

“Right, well,” Draco says. Severus’s lack of reaction makes him nervous. “I remember I had been really nervous before the game, and Father had promised to be there but he couldn’t make it and Madam Hooch was busy at Hogwarts. And I know it was just rec Quidditch and it wasn’t a big deal at all, but Severus, when I saw that you were there, I—”

“No need for dramatics, boy,” Severus snaps, seemingly having found his voice. “I suppose you’re giving this to me now because you’re on the national team now?”

Draco nods shyly. “I haven’t been able to come home much this season, and with the way Qualifiers are set up that’s unlikely to change until after the Cup, or at least for as long as Bulgaria is still in the running. I’ll be in England for holidays, of course, and my parents may want to see me for certain occasions, but I don’t know how much time I’ll be able to spend here. Especially with you at Hogwarts most of the year, so I can’t just Apparate to see you. And I know you say you don’t miss me, Severus, but I wanted to give you something to—to remind you of me.” It sounds so juvenile when he says it out loud. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, I just thought…”

Severus sighs heavily and waves his wand, summoning a heavy trunk from up the stairs. He packs the Snitch inside it and raises his eyebrows at Draco’s confused look.

“What?” he says. “Did you want me to hang it up here when I spend most of my time at Hogwarts, as you were quick to point out?”

Draco beams at him, feeling a warm rush of surprised affection. “You’re going to hang it up in your office?”

“Obviously,” Severus says, somehow managing to make it sound like Draco’s surprise is unreasonable. “Draco,” he continues very quietly, “you are always welcome here, or in my office at Hogwarts, as your schedule permits. As much time as you take up, boy, I will be disappointed if you become too much of a celebrity to see your godfather less than thrice a year.”

—

Practices kick off again the following week. They’d had an extended break since their next game isn’t until late January, but it’s clear that all of the Bulgarian-born players have been making use of the Sofia Pitch anyway; Draco is one of the few who hadn’t played at all over the holidays, so he gets there early. Lev Zograf, the team Captain and Keeper, is already there talking to Coach Becker, by the time Draco arrives. He offers Draco a cheery smile.

“Morning, Draco,” Zograf says. “You’re here early.”

Draco hugs both him and Becker. “It’s good to see you both. I wanted to fly a bit before practice starts.”

“That’s the spirit,” Becker says. She’s looking at him like she agrees that he needs the extra practice, but is too nice to say it. Whatever. “Did you have a good holiday?”

“I did, yeah,” Draco says. “Mum asked after you, Zo.”

Zograf grins. “Did she now?”

“Still married,” Draco says flatly, which makes Becker laugh.

“I’m only joking,” Zo says with a contradictory waggle of his eyebrows. “Would you want to practice with me, Draco, or would you rather fly alone? Olivia and I were just finishing up.”

 _Olivia, huh?_ Draco wants to say. Olivia Becker is only in her thirties, but no one on the team calls her by the first name. With the rookies, it’s mostly a professionalism thing—Draco, Dobri, and the other young Chaser Nikola Vassileva still call her “Coach” or “Coach Becker” even when they’re talking about, not to, her—but even the vets call her by her surname. Apparently Zo is an exception to the rule.

Draco grins at him, anyway, and accepts his offer. They spend the next hour or so alternating between Seeker and Keeper practice, with Becker coaching from below. After not having been on a broom for nearly three weeks, Draco can physically feel something in his chest loosen, even though he flies as well as a penguin for a solid ten minutes. Becker picks at all the sloppy habits Draco somehow managed to pick up over the holidays, and Zograf somehow manages to block all but two of Draco’s attempts to net the Quaffle even after Draco’s warmed up. It’s exhilarating.

The rest of the team shows up just as Draco is starting to sweat, so he and Zo touch back down. The Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, take turns ruffling Draco’s hair just to see him make faces at them, while Nikola goes right to Zo for a hug like the team puppy he is. Bogomil is the last to come out of the locker room, and his expression turns a little forlorn when he sees them. Volkov and Vulchanov glance at each other.

“Hey, Bogomil,” Vulchanov calls. “How was your break?”

“It was alright,” Bogomil says.

He smiles at them, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. Draco sees Niko frown and open his mouth to say something before Zo elbows him. The Beaters share another glance.

“Okay,” Vulchanov echoes. Volkov has clearly let him take the wheel here, which is fair—Vulchanov is a happily married father of four while Volkov still takes the rookies out for drinks every few weeks and gets completely sloshed with them. “Alright.” He changes the subject. “Huh. Has anyone seen Dobri today?”

Everyone looks at Draco, who puts his hands up. “Why is everyone looking at me?”

“You two are practically attached at the hip,” Volkov says. Bogomil visibly tenses, which does not go unnoticed by the team.

“Well, he didn’t say anything to me,” Draco says. “I’ll stop by his flat after practice if he doesn’t show. Maybe he’s sick.”

“Overslept, more like,” Niko chirps, and just like that the lighthearted air is back.

Practice goes well, considering they’re a Chaser short and no one’s flying quite as well as they were before the holidays. Becker makes them run drills until they’re all sweating profusely even in the dead of winter—Draco regrets coming early with every inch of his being, while Zo still looks more or less unfazed as usual—and plays them against each other afterward. The Beaters keep the energy high and Niko jokes around the whole time, even without Dobri who usually joins him, so the atmosphere is generally pleasant.

Still, Bogomil is even quieter than usual, which is saying something. When practice ends, he’s the first one in the locker room and he’s gone before Draco’s out of the shower. Zo is also conspicuously absent, which Draco takes to mean that he’s gone to talk with Bogomil.

“Are you headed to see Dobri now?” Volkov asks as Draco is on his way out. “Listen—I took the boys out on New Year’s Eve, Dobri and Bogomil and Niko. I fear… I don’t know what happened, but Dobri left right after midnight and Bogomil got absolutely plastered afterward.”

“Something happened between them, then?” Draco guesses.

“It is more than likely, yes,” Volkov says. “After that, I didn’t hear from either of them until Bogomil showed up for practice today. Vulchanov didn’t either. Whatever it was, it must’ve been bad.”

“I certainly hope not,” Draco says. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll try to get Dobri to tell me what happened.”

Volkov smiles grimly and wishes him luck, and then Draco leaves. He Apparates right into Dobri’s living room, which he’s been doing ever since they learned how to Apparate—even back when Dobri was living with his parents, the Paisis had loved Draco and somehow never considered to be intruding. The Malfoys were a little more sensitive about that, but Dobri had always been welcome at any time so long as he Apparated right into Draco’s bedroom.

When his feet find the ground, he finds himself faced with his best friend under a mountain of blankets on the sofa, watching his charmed television and eating ice cream out of a massive tub.

“Dobri!” he cries. “Have you been sitting here all day? What is that—pistachio? That isn’t on our diet plan!”

“Nice to see you too,” Dobri grumbles. “Can you scoot over? I’m trying to watch _Forrest Gump_ and you’re sort of blocking the telly…”

Draco eyes him warily and complies, making room for himself in Dobri’s huge blanket nest. Dobri only (and always) watches _Forrest Gump_ when he’s either very sick or very sad, so he’s treading carefully. He sits and watches Tom Hanks play ping pong for a few minutes before Dobri sighs, having finished his ice cream. He Vanishes the empty tub and reaches over the arm of the sofa to pick up another tub of ice cream, this one chocolate-flavored. Draco snatches it out of his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Dobri says morosely. “Don’t worry about me. Leave me alone, let me die.”

“You wouldn’t believe how tempting that is,” Draco says, “but no.”

The two of them glare at each other for a moment, clearly both gauging the other’s stubbornness. Eventually, while Tom Hanks exposes Richard Nixon on screen, Dobri looks away, chewing on his lower lip, and wiggles around on the sofa until he lands with his head in Draco’s lap. He reaches around to grab Draco’s hand and place it in his hair.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure,” Draco agrees. “But it’s bothering you. I want to help.”

Dobri smiles a little bit. “I don’t think this is something anyone can really help with, Draco. But thank you.”

“You’re my best friend, dimwit. I’ll listen to whatever you want to say. And I’ll get Volkov to fight whoever hurt you.”

Dobri exhales heavily in an amused sort of way, but doesn’t say anything.

Forrest proposes to Jenny and she says no. Dobri used to cry at this part, although after seeing it so many times he’s more or less immune to it now. Maybe it’s the knowledge that she’ll come back to him eventually. He still cries at the end when Forrest stands at Jenny’s grave.

“Some things happened while you were gone,” Dobri says uncertainly. “Volkov took us to a bar…”

He trails off. Draco scratches at his scalp, very gently.

“A strange man approached Bogomil while we were drinking,” Dobri continues eventually. “He was a fan, I think, or maybe—I don’t know, I don’t think he was Bulgarian. He was wearing a Cannons shirt so he had terrible taste but he was—oddly handsome. But I don’t remember too well. So they talked for a while at the other side of the bar, and I danced with Niko, but I couldn’t help… I couldn’t help looking over at them, the whole time.”

“That must have felt terrible,” Draco says, trying to be comforting.

“Yeah,” Dobri says with a wet little laugh. “And I think Niko could tell, because he talked me into doing shots, and then I don’t remember much of what happened after that but suddenly it was near midnight. And something came over me and I—I went over to Bogomil, Draco, and I kissed him.”

He starts crying then, all bundled up in his blankets and with his face pressed into Draco’s stomach. Draco thinks back to the look on Bogomil’s face all throughout practice and doesn’t know how to reconcile the pieces of the story. It’s fairly obvious to anyone with eyes that Dobri and Bogomil have been into each other since Dobri and Draco joined the team, but Bogomil had in fact looked rather upset this morning. Surely he wouldn’t have been upset that Dobri kissed him, if he had feelings for Dobri as well? Except…

“You kissed him and ran away?” Draco asks.

“I had to,” Dobri sobs. “I was drunk and he was drunk and I was forcing myself onto him—I don’t even remember if he kissed me back! How could I face him after that?”

He reaches for the ice cream that Draco’s pulled out of reach, looking very pitiful, and Draco has no choice but to hand it to him. He can’t speak on Bogomil’s behalf and he doesn’t know if Bogomil has even confided in anyone, since he only ever really talks to Zo anyway, so there’s not much he can do.

Dobri sniffles quietly in Draco’s shirt for the rest of the movie, and he bursts into fresh tears at the end like he always does.

—

Dobri is back at practice the next day, because they really can’t afford to miss much when they have a game coming up. It’s against Egypt, the defending Cup winners. Draco tries not to think about the odds of Bulgaria being defeated again, especially since this new team is far less experienced than the old one (which Egypt had previously beaten anyway).

Practice is strange: Bogomil is quieter than ever and Dobri doesn’t joke around as much as he usually does. Draco hasn’t told anyone what Dobri confessed to him, but he does ask Zo if Bogomil had told him anything. If Zo doesn’t know, then no one else on the team does—and he doesn’t, so Draco figures Bogomil just hasn’t told anyone. It doesn’t seem like either Bogomil or Dobri are going to try and talk it out any time soon, but there are more important things to worry about.

The team is in low spirits the entire week before the game, because it isn’t even a question of who’ll win, but how much Egypt will win by. Zo and Becker try to stay motivated, pushing the team hard at practice, but most of what they say goes in one ear and out the other. Draco overhears Niko privately confessing to Vulchanov that he doesn’t know why they even bother training so hard when they’ll lose anyway.

It’s the day before the game when Zo asks them all to stick around after practice for a few minutes. Draco is expecting him to give them a pep talk or something, maybe try to deny how they all know the game will turn out, but instead he pulls a letter from his pocket.

“I received a letter from Viktor this morning,” he says. “I know our team isn’t exactly confident going into this game, and that’s—it’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world. It wasn’t the end of the world for Viktor or Clara or Vas, or for your father, Bogomil.”

 _Not the end of the world, but the end of their careers_ , Draco wants to say. Dobri shares a glance with him like he’s thinking the same thing.

“Anyway, I thought I would share Viktor’s letter with you,” Zo says. “If you have any prior engagements, you’re free to go, but I do think you’ll find it to be of value…”

_To Zo & family, _

_My apologies for not writing sooner. I’ve been trying to get settled in my new home, and yes, the rumors are true: I’m currently in Norway at an Unplottable address. At the season’s end, or whenever you have time, you’re all welcome to come visit. My roommate has a small obsession with gardening, Vulchanov, you’d love it. And I must admit it’s a relief to be able to be able to play Quidditch and lose without the entirety of Bulgaria screaming at me for it. Would you believe I haven’t played Seeker in all the time I’ve been here? It turns out I’m not a bad Chaser, and I rather enjoy playing Quidditch for no reason but fun._

_Speaking of Quidditch: I have, of course, been following your games this season, and I would like to offer my congratulations on your performance thus far. Our defense looks solid—Zo, you’re like a brick wall—and our Chasers play better with every game. And Draco, you’ve made a number of catches I quite frankly might have missed._

_Still, do not forget that Quidditch is a game. I am so fortunate to have been reminded of this through my recent living circumstances. Rookies, listen closely: I understand that Quidditch is your job and the papers make it sound like your life’s work, but at the end of the day, it’s only a game. There is no point in agonizing over missed shots or being a second too slow to catch the Snitch._

_Egypt has been absolutely unbelievable this season, as I’m sure you all know, and they are leading the division with 14 wins to 2 losses. If we lose to them tomorrow, we will only have lost to the best team and current defending Cup winners. That is nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, this is only the Qualifying round—you still have the rest of the season until the playoffs, and come next June I am confident you will be more than ready._

_With that being said, I wish you the best of luck tomorrow. I miss you all dearly and hope to speak to you soon._

_Cheers,_

_Viktor_

—

They get fucking creamed by Egypt, both in the next day’s game and in the rematch a week later. Despite Krum’s words, it fucking sucks.

England wins their matches against France, but loses miserably to Senegal just a week later. Bulgaria beats Japan twice at the Tokyo Pitch and the team goes out drinking in Muggle Japan. It’d be a lovely trip if Draco could spend it with all of his friends on the team, but instead he only really talks to Dobri. Bogomil is glued to Zo’s side, and their resident lightweight Nikola flounces between the Beaters. For their part, the vets are doing a great job of pretending there’s no problem with the current group dynamic.

Then they play Wales and win by a single goal, since the Snitch has yet to be caught after the four-hour cap; they lose in the rematch thanks to an early catch by the Welsh Seeker. England just barely beats Egypt and loses the rematch, in which Oliver Wood is clearly playing through a cold and spends much of the game a little slower than usual. He’s visibly sicker in their next game, in which they lose spectacularly to Austria, and is replaced for the rematch. Draco can’t blame him for trying to play through his illness—the backup Keeper is significantly worse, and they lose again.

Fortunately for England, Wood seems to be better by the next game, and they have a winning streak of eight games before their next loss. Bulgaria, on the other hand, wins six of their next nine games. That puts England in third in the division and Bulgaria in sixth. Senegal is first in the division and second in line for Cup favorite, and with their eighteen wins in twenty games, Draco has no delusions that Bulgaria will somehow come out on top.

But they’re at a comfortable spot to expect to make it to the playoffs, and by this point Bulgaria as a country seems to have become resigned to the fact that Draco isn’t Krum and the new team isn’t the old, so no one is terribly bothered that they’re not one of the top picks for the Cup again as they had been for the past four years.

—

Bulgaria plays England for the first time in late April. Harry Potter looks right at home even at the Sofia Pitch, which is annoying. The last time England played here, they had lost, albeit to Krum’s team. Draco doesn’t even want to think about it—he’s read the articles predicting scores and offering betting odds, and it’s not looking too hot for Bulgaria. Without Krum, their odds against this faster and more experienced team are fairly slim.

England knows it. Even Oliver Wood, who has been notorious for his pre-game anxiety ever since he was made Captain, doesn’t look too worried.

“I think we’ve got a chance,” Niko chatters nervously as they make their way to the middle of the pitch. “We haven’t played in two weeks, we’ve got fresh legs, they’ve got to be tired after playing France…”

“I don’t know, Niko, they don’t look too tired to me,” Volkov mutters. Draco privately agrees. The English Chasers are practically bouncing and the Beaters have oddly menacing grips on their clubs. Even though Draco’s seen enough of their games to know they don’t take too many penalties, he feels his stomach turn.

It somehow worsens when Wood offers Zo a polite nod as the announcer rambles off their lines. Potter smiles at Draco as the Captains shake hands, and Draco tries not to glower back, and then the ref starts the game.

England’s Chasers are _fast_. Draco had known this already, but they seem quicker in person somehow. They get possession of the Quaffle first and then they’re off.

“Hawksworth is first to the Quaffle, now to Edric Vosper—we saw a great performance from him against France. Nicely dodging Ivan Volkov’s Bludger—oh, Vassileva’s got it! He passes to Paisi, and—back to Vosper on a sloppy turnover by Paisi—”

Potter is casually circling the Pitch, staying fairly removed from the action. Draco trails him and listens absently to the commentary, not wanting to let Potter have any advantage in case he spots the Snitch first. Everyone knows Potter is one of the fastest Seekers in the game.

“Paisi’s got it now, he passes to Bogomil Levski—he’s leading Bulgaria in goals this season, on pace to outscore his father Alexie Levski’s last season—neat slide there, right between Withey and Choudry—LEVSKI SHOOTS—BLOCKED BY OLIVER WOOD! That’s one shot on goal from Bogomil Levski, but no points!”

Wood tosses the Quaffle to Avery Hawksworth to continue the play. Hawksworth is too busy smirking at Bogomil to notice Vulchanov’s Bludger coming right for him, and he loses control of his broom just long enough for Bogomil to steal the Quaffle and toss it to Dobri.

“EYES ON THE PLAY, HAWKS!” Wood bellows to a clearly abashed Hawksworth, and Draco hears Potter scoff as they fly by.

Bogomil gets tripped up by Keaton Flitney, who spends less time chasing the Quaffle than he does sitting in the penalty box, and then Dobri nearly runs Flitney into the stands. That leaves Niko free to steal the Quaffle, and then suddenly Potter’s taking a nosedive toward the hoops. Draco follows him without even thinking about it, trying to spot the Snitch, extending his hand as if it’ll push his broom faster

He pulls out of the dive a fraction with just enough time not to crash into the left hoop, heart racing in his chest as he comes to a stop. Potter is hovering up by Zo, clearly not having spotted the Snitch, and he shoots a cocky grin at Draco before flying off.

The announcer seems excited about it: “No, it seems that Harry Potter hasn’t seen the Snitch after all! He’s a brilliant flier, as we all know, but Bulgaria might be the worst team to play the Wronski Feint against, with Krum’s fondness for it. And Draco Malfoy seems to have come out of it unscathed—Paisi’s got the puck, he’s heading straight down the pitch—barely dodged Choudry’s Bludger, he shoots—SAVED! Flitney’s got the rebound, he sends a long pass to Vosper—Vosper shoots—SCORES! EDRIC VOSPER OPENS THE SCORING!”

“YEAH, EDDY!” Potter screams as Zo tosses the Quaffle to Bogomil, looking murderous.

The next to score is Bogomil, off of a beautiful pass by Dobri, but then England quickly recovers with three goals in a row. England is leading 40-10 after half an hour and Draco can tell Niko is getting restless. 

“Just get the ball through the hoop!” Vulchanov calls to Niko as he flies by him. “We’ll take care of the rest!”

Niko seems somewhat unconvinced. Draco can’t blame him—by the hoops, Zo is starting to look frustrated, and England’s Chasers have been doing a surprisingly good job of dodging Vulchanov and Volkov’s Bludgers. England has had an overwhelming majority of the possession of Quaffle, which is fairly typical of their matches. But despite his obvious uncertainty, Niko is the next to score.

“WHAT A GOAL BY NIKOLA VASSILEVA!” the announcer crows. “And a valiant effort by Oliver Wood, but he was just too slow!”

The Quaffle goes back to Avery Hawksworth, who carries it nearly half the length of the Pitch before passing to Vosper. Dobri steals it on a shaky pass from Vosper to Flitney, only to lose it when Dawn Withey sends a Bludger right at him and he has to swerve hard. Vosper regains possession of the Quaffle and gets it the rest of the way to the goal but tosses it too lightly to the hoops, where Zo catches it easily and sends it up to Niko.

“Vassileva now, carrying it back—he looks to be going for a second goal tonight. That’ll be his thirtieth of the season if he gets it—oh, a _dirty_ hit from Flitney—is that not a penalty? Guess not—and it looks like Flitney was too slow, Levski has it now. He carries it down—another Bludger from Withey, but Levski seems to have slipped past—he shoots—AND A TAP-IN BY DOBROSLAV PAISI! ANOTHER TEN POINTS FOR BULGARIA!”

“ATTA BOY, DOBRI!” Draco shouts.

With England’s lead at a much shakier 10 points, Bulgaria’s got its confidence back. The Chasers manage five more goals, three of which are Bogomil’s, and Zo blocks all but two shots so that by the end of the first hour, Bulgaria is leading 90-60.

Draco is just starting to feel good about the match when he spots the Snitch floating just behind Potter. It’s close enough to Potter that if he spots it now, Draco has no chance of reaching it first, but Potter doesn’t seem to have noticed it yet. But maybe… 

“Has Draco Malfoy seen the Snitch?” the announcer cries when Draco goes for it. Potter turns sharply at that and dives, and Draco curses, pushing his broom faster—stretches his hand forward—and Potter is _right there_ —

“HARRY POTTER’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” the announcer cries. “ENGLAND WINS THE GAME!”

The English players all fly right to Potter, shouting in his face, while Potter holds the Snitch high. Draco is breathing hard, still reeling from having been a fraction of a second too late, and out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Niko and Dobri’s dejected faces.

He turns back to see Potter grinning widely, celebrating with his teammates, and the hatred grows.


End file.
